


Looking Glass

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Feminization, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Bruce Wayne/Jervis Tetch, Obsession, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: Alice is dead, and all Jervis has is the virus. And Jim. After all, if they were so cruel as to take his dear sister from him, well, then he must simply find his Alice once again. And Jim will help him, whether he wants to or not.





	1. Prologue

It’s a shame to leave Gotham before the fun really starts and the city crumbles from within, but it’s too dangerous to remain and run the risk of their being recognised. Still, Jervis had _so_ been looking forward to watching the carnage up close, to see the city that stole his whole world tear itself apart. But one must pick their battles wisely, and besides, he has a _much_ better toy now.

He strolls through his new home, nodding happily at the décor. Small mercies, but it wasn’t tacky. One never quite knew with the wealthy. He wanders over to the back window and claps his hands in delight at the sight of the sprawling garden.

“Oh, a cherry tree! How the sight warms the heart, and that reminds me – we _must_ make some tarts.”

“They should leave,” Jim growls, eyes on the husband who smiles at them blankly, shotgun held loosely in his hands.

“Now, now,” Jervis chides him. “They haven’t finished giving us the tour. Although now that you mention it, both of them _are_ unneeded. Perhaps I should remove one so we can continue unimpeded?”

He watches Jim’s face closely, watches the flicker of uncertainty that unsteadies the hold of the hypnosis for a second. It’s a dangerous game to play with Jim, one Jervis rarely indulged in before she- _before_ now_. _Why bother going for a target that was too headstrong, too fixed in their beliefs, and run the risk of them slipping from his control at any moment, when there were such soft, malleable people to… expose. It’s not his way, but now, every time that shadow passes over Jim’s pretty blue eyes and doubt creeps in before going dark once more, sliding back under _his_ control – it’s the best feeling in the world.

“They… they should go, away from us,” Jim says slowly, eyes darting over every corner of the room, unfocused. “They’ll get hurt. In the way of us. We don’t, they shouldn’t_ be_ here.”

A hand curls around Jervis’ lapel as Jim sways on the spot. The shadow is still there, a whisper of darkness that lies hidden, that only his Alice can bring out, that makes Jervis smile and pull him close, leading him over to the warmth of the fireplace.

“Your right, James,” he croons, sliding his face against the hard cut of Jim’s jaw. “They _shouldn’t_ be here. This is our home, our precious safe place, and these intruders are trying to ruin everything. They’re trying to steal our happiness, to _hurt_ us.”

Jervis presses his lips against the dark veins pulsing across Jim’s temple, sighs at the flicker of red in his eyes. His sister, his darling Alice looks back at him, that tell-tale darkness that is all her, all Jim, as he plucks the stoker from the mantelpiece.

The woman screams for mercy, begs Jim, begs her husband who watches them with a blank smile that doesn’t waver, even as Jim brings the poker down and the screams turn to wet gurgles.

Jervis sighs happily, sinking down onto the divan as James turns on the husband – Jim really did have such wonderful impulses. It’s a sinful thought, the idea that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, Jim had always been meant for this, for Alice. She’d left him, run far far away when all he’d done was love her. Jim had stolen her from him, had killed her, but no, she’d also run, she’d chosen strangers over her own brother. It’s a sin, to think that maybe she was meant to be this way, but still. Still. Inside Jim she was truly magnificent. Beautiful and perfect and pure, the way she was always meant to be.

Cupping Jim’s red-stained cheeks to kiss that soft, hungry mouth, perhaps this was what Jervis was always meant to have. A gift only Alice could give, and only Jervis could control.

The handcuffs close around the heavy iron grating with a click and the hypnosis lifts as Jervis pulls away, out of reach. The hunger fades from Jim’s face, the awareness creeping back, and before it fades entirely, Jervis steals a quick final kiss.

“Nicely done, James,” he purrs as Jim twitches away with a snarl. “So nimble, so hale, but that reaction was quite beyond the pale.”

To watch Jim Gordon break when he sees the bodies, sees the blood on his hands, the snarling anger that turns on Jervis as he strains against the handcuffs – it’s almost like Alice never left him.


	2. Then - A boyish notion of false emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Minor Bruce/Jervis in the flashback chapters. It's restricted to Bad Touch bordering on the sexual and Jervis being a creep with a sister fetish, but the implication/threat of underage non-con is there.

Jim dreamt of war, of blood and pain and death. He dreamt of Lee and a future that could never be. It was a dizzying carousel of familiar faces made strange, Oswald lounging in army fatigues, Barbara as sharp as ever yet just as softly vulnerable as he remembered, and his father – his final moments in that car strangely comforting even when Jim knew how that ended, telling Jim all the things he couldn’t say out loud himself. And through it all, he chased a grinning shadow that slid from his fingers like smoke, terror clawing his skin apart with Bruce’s name on his lips. He had to wake up, had to find Tetch before it was too late. He couldn’t die yet. Not yet.

When he jolted back into reality, it was to a jumble of doctors and soothing voices telling him it was all alright, and Jim was proud after the absolute trip he’d suffered through that he managed to hold back screaming at all the gentleness he didn’t deserve. He could still see Bruce with that sweet, small smile of his before he slipped a mask of Jim’s face over his own, gun still smoking in his bloodstained hands. The nurse said nothing as Jim’s hands shook uncontrollably around the glass of sweetened water, her smile understanding as she helped press the cup to his lips, and for a brief moment Jim let his eyes slip closed and pretended he hadn’t been found poisoned and on the brink of death not ten minutes ago while his girlfriend was recovering from a bullet to the stomach in the floor above him.

The moment the nurse swept from the room, Jim gritted his teeth, pushed his trembling limbs out of the bed even as bolts of agony cramped his muscles, stumbling blindly through the hospital halls while every terrible thing Tetch could be doing flickered through his mind. He should have warned Alfred at least, called him about the possibility of Tetch going after Bruce, should have stopped and used his thick head for a moment instead of being so _useless._ His recklessness had almost cost Vale, had cost enough lives already, and now Bruce could be–

He shoved the thought away before it could finish, pushing himself into the familiar state of Cop and focusing completely only on the present. His body felt weak and shivery, like he’d just come out of the tail end of a terrible sickness, and his vision still tilted alarmingly if he tried to look too long. Even his mind felt scattered and brittle, thoughts sliding into one another like smoke, visions from the dream blending with his own terrible imagination. As he pushed through the exit doors, Jim took a moment to lean against the wall and suck in a breath of the sharp winter air, letting the cold seep into his lungs and pain blossom inside his chest, grounding him once more.

Despite the late hour, the parking lot was still crowded with people coming and going, but no one looked too long as Jim stumbled towards his car, their eyes sliding over him with practised ease. Gothamites knew better than to pay too much attention to oddities. Which after the never-ending madness of the past few years was, Jim supposed, completely fair.

There was a phone in the glove compartment and a spare gun, he could call Alfred and check before contacting Harvey to–

He froze as a slip of paper fluttered free from the doorframe.

Even in the dim lights of the carpark, he could make out the looping handwriting in glistening red ink.

Smoothing out the folded paper with shaking fingers, Jim stared down at the invitation, distantly noting the gold border and delicately inked calligraphy, as ostentatious and performative as possible even for a fucking note. There was no signature, no sign of who wrote the note, but there didn’t need to be. Tetch had banked on the possibility he would survive the poison. Anger and fear curled up Jim’s spine, greying his still swimming vision, but he forced himself to breath slowly as he slid behind the wheel of the car, forced himself to calm. Bruce had mentioned a date with Selina, dinner, the whole nine yards, so maybe he would be ok. Maybe, just this once, Jim could catch a fucking break.

The invitation crumpled in his fist.

The dinner was disappointingly bland despite the lavish-looking spread, but that, Jervis supposed, was always the risk when dealing with the obscenely wealthy. Too interested in appearance that they lacked putting in enough effort to taste. At least dessert was passable, the cakes and sweets just right. And mercifully, the china was exquisite after the disappointment he suffered through at Dr. Calvi and Dr. Thompkins’ place, with the table here immaculately set with delicate white china and gold detailing that made him sigh. A warm body pressed against his side as his spoon was plucked from his fingers and the parfait he’d been nursing was pressed to his mouth. He smiled indulgently, curling his lips around the spoon just to watch the delight spring into the boy’s vacant eyes, idly stroking his brown curls. There was, he supposed, more unpleasant ways to pass the time, and the boy was comely enough that he didn’t have to pretend overmuch. Still, he could feel the itch under his skin, the slow build of anger that sent his thoughts scattering like smoke on the wind. The boy was a lovely placeholder, to be sure, but still imperfect. A single sip of the wine would fix that, but first he had to wait. The guest of honour had yet to arrive.

As much as it irked him, the charade pays off when he’s in the middle of happily licking a maraschino cherry into his mouth from the boy’s delicate fingers when Jim Gordon stepped into the room with a snarl, gun pointed directly at Jervis, and he can’t help the delighted smile as the sight of him.

This revenge was against Gotham, yes, destroying those who robbed him of his dear sister, but in the end, it was Jim’s heart he would destroy, break him open and make him bleed for what he did. He had _so_ hoped Jim would somehow survive the Red Queen, and he’d even been so very generous as to dose him in a hospital of all places, just to make sure there was a good, solid chance his dear Mr. Gordon would live another day. How boring it would be, if Jim died and he didn’t even get to see it. Still, Jim was being rather naughty to be pointing that gun at him, finger twitching over the trigger with barely controlled anger. High time he learned his P’s and Q’s.

Jervis flicked open his pocket watch with an exaggerated sigh.

“Dear me, you are _quite_ late, James. Waylaid by a white rabbit, perchance?” he tutted, leaning back in his seat.

Jim’s eyes flickered around the room, taking in the bound guests, the Tweeds’ guns pointed at him, lingering slightly on Gotham’s new mayor before finally resting on the figure beside Jervis. He watched closely as realisation widened Jim’s eyes, the blind panic, the dawning horror flickering over his face before a dark anger smoothed his expression into a cold blankness that sent a shiver up Jervis’ spine.

“Bruce?” Jim called out, eyes shifting between Jervis and the boy. “Are you ok?”

The boy tilted his head quizzically, leaning into Jervis’ side with puzzled smile and absent nod. The guileless look, the way Jim stiffened with realisation, it was too much not to tease – and, just as he’d hoped, when Jervis pressed a kiss to the boy’s cheek with one eye on Jim, he was rewarded with Jim’s whole body jerking forward, helpless to the dark fury inside him. Oh, it made Jervis’ heart soar. This was going to be such _fun_.

“What did you do to him?” Jim snarled, body trembling.

Jervis clucked his tongue, waving a lazy hand. “Now James, I can’t imagine what you think waving a gun about is going to accomplish. Other than me being forced to kill all these fine, upstanding leaders of Gotham.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes when Jim didn’t move. “Do I _really _need to explain the rules to you again? After everything we’ve been through?”

There’s a soft snarl from his left, and Jervis couldn’t help but sneer at the Mayor’s furious glare at Jim handing over his gun. Only to frown at the silent look that was traded between them, something loaded in the glance that spoke of a history Jervis had no knowledge of. Well then. Cringing little coward, Jervis really should open up the Penguin’s throat and make Jim drink it like wine to erase any doubt that he was the hero in this story.

“Let Bruce go, Tetch, then we can talk.” Jim’s voice was a warning growl, a threat.

Jervis tore his eyes away from the Penguin, smirking when Bruce bristled in his arms and Jim’s expression fell into an exquisite agony at the protective snarl on the boy’s face, the hatred directed at his dear mentor.

“I don’t think Bruce wants that, do you, Bruce?” Jervis laughed, pressing another kiss to the boy’s cheek, laughing harder when Jim tried to be quick, launching himself across the room only to be slammed against the table, Deever’s large hands easily closing around Jim’s throat.

Nudging the boy from his side, Jervis stepped around the table to Jim’s sprawled figure, wanting to see every exquisite moment of Jim’s agony. The way Jim’s lips pulled back on his teeth, furious snarl still etched on his face even as the breath was squeezed from him was exhilarating, and Jervis simply has to take the moment to trace a finger over that clenching jaw, feeling the anger simmering beneath Jim’s skin. Nails raked over Jervis’ gloved hand, catching the skin of his wrist as Jim thrashed against the suffocating hold, helpless against Deever’s weight pressing him to the table, and Jervis can’t help shivering at the slight sting of pain as Jim’s face turned a ruddy red, mesmerised by the blood beading up from his skin like jewels. Tugging a wine glass over, Jervis shook his wrist until a few droplets fell, disappearing into the red liquid. His and Alice’s together, a perfect elixir to soothe even the most twisted of hearts. Jim really should be more grateful of Jervis’ generosity.

Idly licking his wrist of stray droplets of blood, Jervis watched as Jim’s eyes rolled in his skull. It was so very tempting to simply let it happen and end Jim then and there, but tonight was not about what Jervis wanted. Tonight was about _giving_.

With a flick of his fingers, Deever relaxed his grip. Jervis paused, has to take the moment to revel in holding Jim’s life so easily in his hands before slapping Jim’s cheek. No slipping off into unconsciousness, not when things were _finally_ becoming entertaining.

“Are you still with me, James?” Jervis asked, watching those pretty baby blues slowly focus once more. He takes the moment as Jim gasps for air to slide his hand against the bruises already blooming like a collar around Jim’s neck.

Trembling fingers slide against his sleeve, making Jervis pause in surprise when Jim remained lying there so prettily, eyes wide and pleading. “Let them go, Tetch. Do what you want to me, but let them go,” Jim rasped.

Jervis grinned, wagging a disapproving finger. “Now now, James, you mustn’t go around saying things like that. I may very well think you’re being sincere, when we both know what a _liar_ you are.”

“I’m the one who killed Alice, remember?” Jim said coldly, smirking when Jervis stiffened. “I’m the one who twisted her mind and turned her against you, killing her right before your eyes. Me, and no one else. Let them go, Tetch. You don’t need them. Only me.”

It was a difficulty calming the sudden adrenaline coursing through him, urging Jervis to tear that nasty, lying tongue out of Jim’s head and silence the poison coming out of his mouth. Fumbling in his coat, Jervis tried to breath through the anger that scattered his thoughts until the click of his pocket watch breaks through the white noise. The picture was wrinkled, edges worn ragged from his touch over the years, but Alice’s quiet beauty was unchanged.

With a shaky laugh, Jervis brought his hand down hard enough to send Jim’s face cracking against the polished wooden table.

“Please try not to anger me too much James. Grief has not left me very tolerant, I’m afraid.” Jervis sighed, flexing his gloved hands. He did so hate having to use physical violence. It was terribly inelegant. “Now, let’s us all behave and have a pleasant evening, shall we?”

Jervis moved back to his seat, smirking when the boy immediately snuggled in close again and Jim stood back up with a barely contained snarl. He smiled, running his fingers through those lovely brown curls again before resting his fingers against the hollow of the boy’s throat. Tilting his head, Jervis nodded to the chair next to him.

“Come take a seat, James.”

It was delicious, watching that wilful stubbornness dim as Jim glanced between the chair and the boy. Just one more push. Jervis tightened his fingers, digging into the corded muscle until the boy gasped. Jim flinched, staggering over to the chair and Jervis smiled indulgently at his pleading look, easing his grip from the boy’s throat.

“Much better, James. Now that you’re finally seated, we can begin.”

Jim eyed him warily, eyes flickering away to sweep the room once more. “What choice is it this time, Tetch? How do I save them?”

There was a twinge of anger at the slight impatience in Jim’s voice, like a tired actor bored of repeating the script over and over. It’s a struggle not to punish Jim for that, but it was, Jervis reminded himself, paltry in the face of the coming entertainment.

“Since you’re so eager,” Jervis snapped back, and shoved the boy off him. “Your dear little Bruce is quite the little protégé. Upstanding, righteous, noble, quite the little hero in the making. But you see, I told him to do something for me, and you know intimately how… _persuasive_ I can be.”

It was truly gratifying seeing the way Jim’s face filled with dread, that hopeless, terrified look that hadn’t been as stark when faced with the choice between Dr. Thompkins and Ms. Vale. He had been too eager last time to properly focus when the key to that tender vulnerability in Jim’s heart was right under his nose.

“What did you do?” Jim’s voice was hushed, trying to disguise the desperation in it, and its sweet symphony filled Jervis’ ears.

“I told him to kill the people at this table as soon as I give the word,” said Jervis simply, watching the way Jim stiffened in alarm. “But fret not. The compulsion will disappear as soon as you give him this.”

Jervis didn’t need to explain what was in the syringe he placed on Jim’s plate.

“No.”

He raised his brows. “No?” he repeated, mockingly.

“You want me to infect him? That’s a death sentence,” Jim hissed through gritted teeth.

Jervis smirked, shrugging. “Not at all. He will be freer than he ever was. That darkness lurking in his heart, the supressed anger, the urge for violence against the filth invading his city. Bruce will thank you for the gift.” He tilted his head, smiling at Jim’s barely supressed rage. “But then, you don’t _have_ to infect him. Just let him kill everyone seated, barring myself, of course, and the compulsion will lift, no virus needed. He would then need to live with killing all these innocent people, including yourself, but I’m sure he will get over it. Taking a life is not so much of a burden after the tragedy he’s witnessed.”

Jim turned abruptly, grabbing Bruce with a firm shake even as Dumphry cocked his shotgun in warning. “You can break out of this, Bruce. You’re stronger than him. Concentrate.”

Rolling his eyes, Jervis plucked the wine glass from the table, swirling the contents. “Do you really think he has the strength of will to break my compulsion? He is a strong child to be sure, but a child nonetheless.”

Rough hands clutched his sleeve, Jim’s eyes wild. “Don’t do this. You want me dead, fine, I’ll open my throat right now, but leave Bruce out of it.”

Twisting his grasp, Jervis clasped Jim’s hands in his, considering. “That’s a tempting offer, James.”

Jim’s shoulders slumped with relief, so sweetly willing to commit suicide for the greater good. Jervis raised Jim’s hands to his lips, brushed a soft kiss to scarred knuckles and watched the terrible realisation spring into Jim’s eyes.

“But I’m determined that you live on and suffer without your love, as I have.”

He nodded, and the boy obediently plucks the knife from Deever’s hands, descending on the Curator of Gotham Museum, Mrs. Braithwaite. Jim tried to rise with a shout, but Dumphrey slammed his forearm down hard across Jim’s shoulder with a soft crunch. Jim howled, arm hanging limp, the sound mingling with Mrs. Braithwaite’s scream that turns into a choking gurgle.

“One down,” Jervis announced. “Come here, Bruce, and let’s see if James has made any decisions yet.”

The boy stepped into his arms, reaching out to absently pet Jim’s hand. Jervis grinned at the murderous look he received from Jim, kissing away the flecks of blood spattering Bruce’s cheeks like freckles.

“Do you think this is going to hurt me?” Jim spat. “This little show? You should have already realised this doesn’t work on me when I asked you to shoot a woman I loved in cold blood. I can make this choice without you… _manhandling _him.”

Jervis smirked, nuzzling the boy’s ear just to see that lie disappear from Jim’s face. “Frankly, it’s almost embarrassing having to listen to such obvious lies. It was obvious to see how you cared for the boy. A son you’ll never have, perhaps, now that Dr. Thompkins has left you high and dry?” His filed away Jim’s unconscious flinch at his words, something haunted flickering through Jim’s eyes that was entirely new since the last time they met. Interesting. “Or is he some young, delicate thing to sooth your aching heart after dear Dr. Thompkins moved to greener pastures? He is most affectionate with you, I must say.”

“You’re sick, Tetch,” Jim spat.

Jervis merely smiled, gloved finger tracing Bruce’s round cheek. His smile widened at Jim’s snarl at the touch. “Tsk tsk, Jim, we mustn’t point fingers. Even _I_ don’t go for ones this young, but then, what is a proper Gothamite without a vice or two? The more upstanding they appear, the more twisted they are in their dark hearts, I’ve found. And I always find out. That’s my gift, you see. I can see people like no one else can. I can see _you_ like no one else.”

“Is that what you want to hear?” Jim hissed, but despite the venom in his voice he easily slid from the chair to his knees, chest pressed against Jervis’ thigh. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat, hand desperately curling around Jervis’ knee. The image of sinful supplication. “I’m a villain. A monster. I’ve killed and it felt good. I abandoned people I loved because it was easier than facing up to my own actions. Every day at the GCPD, I acted so self-righteous and holier-than-thou and it was all a ruse. It felt good to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, knowing I was a murderer when everyone still thought I was some kind of moral beacon. You’re right, you can see me like nobody else. I’m a liar and a villain, just as you said.”

There was a sharp pang in Jervis’ chest at Jim’s declaration, as though a knife had been shoved into his ribs. Like a shroud being lifted, suddenly the world can into focus, sharp and clear. Just like before. Just like with Alice. He sighed, leaning forward to cup his hands around Jim’s face, his hot breath puffing against Jervis’ lips. His blue eyes were so wide, so earnest. Jervis trembled at the sight.

“Oh James, that was almost believable,” he breathed against Jim’s lips.

“Jim?” came a small voice.

With a sharp breath Jim blinked, twisting to see Bruce swaying, groggily rubbing his eyes. “Bruce? Can you hear me?”

“What- what is going on…?” Bruce looked around blearily, eyes slow to focus, hands reaching childishly for the familiar. For Jim.

“Look at me, Bruce,” Jim said quickly when Bruce stiffened, eyes falling on the cooling body of Mrs. Braithwaite, the blood still caked on his own hands. “Just focus on me, okay?”

Bruce shivered, turning wide eyes on Jim still kneeling on the floor, the way the both of them were curled around Jervis, before landing on the knife hanging loosely in his hand. It was a slow horror that breaks like dawn over Bruce’s face, a terrible realisation as he pieces everything together. Tears sparkle in his dark eyes. “Jim, I-”

Jervis smiled and leaned over Jim to slide the syringe into Bruce’s neck.


End file.
